'Didn't you understand,' he said, 'all those hours that I sat for you while you painted, and these long nights in which we wandered by the water?'
'I thought you were my friend.'
'I thought so too. When I sat before you and watched you paint, and looked at your beautiful hair and your eyes, I thought I was your friend. And I looked at the lines of your body beneath your dress. And when it pleased me to carry your easel and walk with you, I thought it was friendship. Only to-night I know I am in love. Oh, Valentia, I am so glad!'
She could not keep back her tears. Her bosom heaved, and she wept.
'You are a woman,' he said. 'Did you not see?'
'I am so sorry,' she said, her voice all broken. 'I thought we were such good friends. I was so happy. And now you have spoilt it all.'
'Valentia, I love you.'
'I thought our friendship was so good and pure. And I felt so strong in it. It seemed to me so beautiful.'
'Did you think I was less a man than the fisherman you see walking beneath the trees at night?'
'It is all over now,' she sighed.